By Any Other Name
by BookWorm77071
Summary: After surviving Lord Voldemort's attack on her house and her son, Lily's barely feels human. She barely feels anything, thanks to the potions she takes. But every so often, more and more frequently, she receives a letter and lily. And she has no idea who the sender is.


**A/N: Hi! I know I should probably be working on Sovereign Affairs or Behemoth, but don't worry, they're both coming. Anyway, this is an if they lived AU, inspired by the Hebrew song _Sigaliyot_ , or Violets, by David Broza. The song's quite beautiful and I recommend it even if you can't understand the language.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Her mind-healer's tips were mostly think-positive-and-hope-for-the-best useless nonsense, but one of the things he told her that she took to heart was matching her breathing to something. The second hand on a clock perhaps, or Harry's steady, solemn blinks, or the incessant tapping of her husband's foot on the floor or finger on the table or knees against each other. Now, it was the dripping of the kitchen sink.

Lily was sitting at the kitchen island, her eyes fixed on the silver faucet. Drip, exhale, two, three...drip, inhale, two, three...

Tying her breathing to something else was very helpful to Lily. If she didn't have something telling her when, she'd simply forget to breathe.

Lily heard the front door open and slam loudly, but the sound did not startle her as it might have a few months ago. The new potion her mind-healer had her on worked wonders. Hardly anything could scare her anymore.

Hardly anything could make her feel anything anymore...

Her husband came into the kitchen, their son in his arms. Harry was chatting happily, half gibberish, half real words he had learned. At nearly two, he was... _a real person now_. She nearly smiled as she remembered the phrase James would use whenever Harry did anything, like roll over or wave, but that was all Before.

Lily had often felt, throughout her whole life, that she could divide everything into before and after.

There was before she got her Hogwarts letter, and there was after. There was before Severus called her a Mudblood, and there was after. There was before Petunia stopped talking to her, and there was after.

But only one thing was Before and After.

"He didn't eat much," her husband said finally, not looking at her as he set Harry down in his high chair.

Lily kept her eyes on the sink. "How much should I feed him," she said, trying and failing to make her words into a question. Like she couldn't even fake interest in her own son.

James shrugged out of the corner of her eye. "Till he stops eating, I guess."

Lily nodded, unsure if he was looking at her or not. She got up from her chair slowly, robotically, and made her way to the fridge.

"I'm going to take a nap," James called over his shoulder. Lily didn't answer.

This is how it was with them now. They spoke about Harry and where they were going. They rarely said why and they never discussed how it was when they got back. Not even like strangers. Strangers exchanged pleasantries, spoke of the weather and complimented each other on their coats and held the door for one another. Lily and James hadn't said a kind word to each other since November.

Potter Manor was very helpful in avoiding in her husband, she reflected as she absentmindedly heated up mashed sweet potatoes for Harry with her wand. They had moved out of their house in Godric's Hollow the night _he_ got in, and she supposed that was when it started. She was aware, vaguely, that James had not been in the house since his parents had died, his mother just a few days after his father, and she didn't even ask him if he was all right. Just clutched Harry to her chest and sobbed.

She supposed she got a pass for that night. But as time went on? As the Wizarding world started tackling new problems and their old friends announcing weddings, pregnancies, new jobs, and more milestones? What was her excuse for staying stuck?

And though her mind-healer had repeatedly assured her that she had been through a trauma, and would heal on her own time, when she was ready, she knew there was no forgiveness and no understanding for her secret sin, the one she kept hidden from her husband, behind locked doors in this too-big house and sealed in a box, charmed shut, shoved deep in wardrobe in a guest room.

Guilt, one of the only emotions she could still feel clearly, was etched clearly onto her face, and as she placed Harry's little plastic bowl on his tray, she thought he could see right into her soul.

He had stopped his babbling. He never did talk to her anymore, the way he used to, her little ray of sunshine and his made-up songs with made-up words to keep them company in hiding. She only ever heard him talk anymore when he chatted with James or when he was still on his euphoric high from visiting Sirius and Remus.

Lily winced as she thought of her two old friends, whom she hadn't spoken to in more than just a while either, but not because of that. Because of who they reminded her of.

She shut that part of her brain off. She was good at doing that. The potions helped. Instead, she watched Harry take his spoon and try to feed himself.

He stuck the spoon in the bowl upright and quickly pulled it out and shoved it into his mouth, before the food slipped back into the bowl. The result was a very orange mess, but she didn't laugh the way she had the first time she and James had given Harry a utensil.

"Here," she said softly, taking his arm in hers. "Like this," she said, tilting it. "If you hold it this way, the food won't fall off. See?"

He watched her with his eyes-her own eyes exactly, and yet, so different-and they were patient, but not particularly kind. He used to adore her. She wasn't a completely terrible mother; at least she still wanted her son to like her.

But it was so hard with him! And some people adored her without her having to even try...

Lily switched tracks on her mind again, disgusted with herself. She still respected James, and would not think such thoughts in the presence of his son.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, and let go of his arm.

He looked at her for a second more, then looked down at his bowl, and switched his arm back.

She was vaguely aware of it hurting her. But she also knew it should have hurt more. Her son didn't think of her as his mother; shouldn't that kill her inside? Shouldn't that destroy her? Shouldn't she do everything in her power to repair their bond?

Lily blamed the potions, but deep inside, the part of her that had not died that not, the part that was still a fierce young mother, deeply in love with her husband, and hopeful for the end of a long war...that part knew better. Because she was more than the sum of her emotions and the things that had happened to her, wasn't she? She still had a soul. She still could make choices.

And she chose wrong. Every single time.

A soft _thud_ behind her, on the kitchen counter, rang in her ears long after it ended.

 _Your choice_ , she thought to herself.

Harry peered at what she knew had appeared behind her, curious. He was still discovering magic, and while he had mastered object permanence, things that appeared out of nowhere were quite a mystery to him.

She didn't say anything as she got up, turned around, and grabbed the delivery, not looking at them, refusing to look at them while Harry was in the room. She crossed over to the main dining room and pressed her back to the wall, so that her son could not see her but he was still well within earshot.

She felt guilt rise within her again, but she ignored it, and knew it would go away soon, for a time, anyway. Because clutched in her hands were the only things that could really make her feel alive.

She opened them and looked down.

In her left hand, a lily flower. She had not liked them as a child, because of how she used to be teased. When she hit her teens, flirting boys and girls would all, without fail, bring her roses, certain that lilies were overdone. (Except her husband, who had actually never brought her flowers. But she didn't like to think about him at times like this.) So Lily had actually never received any lily flowers, which was a shame, because there were many different types and they were all lovely. Her favourite, she decided, was the Avonlea, because it reminded her of sunsets. And...something else.

This time the lily was a Stargazer, in various shades of pink up and down the petal. It had a bit of parchment tied to the stem, and on it was written, in writing she had come to know so well, _Your lips are the middle-pink colour in the day and the edge-pink colour in the moonlight._

In her right hand, a letter, with only her name on it.

She opened it, sinking to the floor and laying the lily down beside her. Her heart fluttered at the mere nearness of the words.

 _Dear Lily,_ it began.

 _It was so lovely seeing you out and about this week. You had been looking so pale these past few months, stuck in that horrid house, and now your skin has gained some colour. Your face was glowing at the Auror Accommodation Ceremony. You took my breath away. I can only imagine what you would have done to me if you had smiled._

 _But why would you smile? You've been through hell. You had to plead for your life, your son's life, in front of_ him _. Your husband should have been faster, that night. Or gotten you real protection._

 _He wasn't much company at the Accommodation Ceremony, either, I noticed. He didn't ask you to dance. What kind of idiot wouldn't ask you to dance? Even if you would not have said yes._

 _I saw you had to put up with that Skeeter woman before she was escorted off the premises. I can't believe they let her in in the first place._

 _You didn't talk most of the evening. Just held Harry tightly, or else watched him with his godfather. You didn't speak to him much, either, I saw, nor Remus Lupin. But you did Hestia Jones. I think that's wonderful progress, my love. I'm glad you had her to sit by you most of the evening. I know she calmed you._

 _I'm not quite sure why the Auror Offices thought to invite you. I suspect if you never see another again in your life, it'll be too soon. (And never soon enough, for that night, of course.) It probably upset you-all those smug Purebloods, drowning in their family gold, healed so quickly from the war because they were never going to be caught in the crossfires, anyway. Safe behind their surnames and their wands...not like you and your son, not even safe in your own home._

 _It torments me so not to be able to talk to you. To listen to you. I wish you could tell me what you're feeling yourself. I miss the sound of your voice, your laughter. I used to hear you sing, you know. It's been so long. Far too long._

 _I wish I could take you far away-both of you, Harry and yourself. Maybe America. Along the Southern coast, on some Muggle beach. We could spend the days on the shore with Harry. I know you've always wanted to show him the sea. You think he'd like the seashells. But you'd be far too scared to let him run into the water. You'd think that he'd fall into some giant wave and drown or something-remember how anxious you used to get about Quidditch? Don't worry, I'd hold his hand the whole way._

 _And I could spend nights with you...not on the sand. I know how much you hate sand. On a bed. In a beach house, maybe. Better than a hotel; I heard you telling Hestia Harry's started opening windows from across the room and it's best not to risk it. We'd have privacy._

 _I am glad I have these letters to write you, don't think I'm not. I get to tell you how I feel through them, when otherwise I would not be able to. But it's getting harder and harder. I want to hold you in my arms. I want to look you in the eye and say these things to you._

 _I can't, for now, so these will have to do._

 _But I'm with you always._

Lily did not realise she had started crying until a tear slid off her face and hit the parchment. She stood up and shook herself. It was ridiculous, crying this way. This was not anywhere near the most emotional letter he had sent her.

She imagined, not for the first time, what he would say if he were here. If she could talk to him.

He would be there for her emotionally. He's listen. He's ask her how she was coping, what dreams tormented her at night and which ones kept her going during the day, and he'd really, truly listen. He'd give her an understanding smile, sympathetic to her plight.

And when things got a bit better, and she was ready, he'd probably take her out. No-cook for her. He was so romantic, she already knew...

Lily shivered at the prospect of sitting across from him, and this nameless, faceless man reaching over and taking her hands in his...pulling her towards him...the table in her mind disappeared...

Lily stopped. Fantasising about her not-paramour wasn't much fun. She had no idea who he was. No idea what he looked like. He did not write of himself that way.

He wrote about how he felt, though. How much he loved her. Dear Lord, how he loved her. _So much it hurts,_ as he had written numerous times.

She truly did not have a clue who it was. She only knew that this was a man who had been present in her life since her first year and was still around. (And even this was suspect-perhaps this was a silent observer?)

He had begun to love her during their school days, she knew, and it only grew and grew. At her worst times, she felt anger at her husband-how had he managed to cheat her out of the love of this man?

But she felt-as she so often did-guilty, when that thought crosses her mind. James had not been a very good husband since the attack, true, but she had not been a very good wife. At least James kept being a father. She was an awful mother.

And it didn't even hurt her that much, thanks to the potions.

She had begged her mind-healer to fix her. She couldn't wake up screaming in the middle of the night anymore. She needed to stop. Everything felt intensified, but it was like she only had a fraction of her strength to process it all. And he had prescribed various concoctions to help.

The potions mostly dulled everything. She couldn't quite feel happiness or joy, but she didn't mind so much because she couldn't feel pain.

But the letters...the letters managed to break through the veil she had places between herself and society. It was as if this man reached out from the ink, grasped her tightly, and made her _feel_. It was like the world was black and white and only he could make her see colour.

She shivered. He was getting angsty, as of late. His letters were more frequent now, and he talked more often of how he needed to touch her, see her, talk to her for real. Sometimes Lily wanted to tear her hair out and scream _then come!_ Or figure out a tracking charm and find out the location of the sender. Find him, and take him in her arms, and really feel. Not just through the letters, with her own fingertips.

She would not allow herself. It was bad enough she didn't feel anything anymore for her husband, bad enough she was having this warped affair under his own roof, and she refused to touch this man. It would not hurt James any less when he found it (for he would find out, she knew), but she hoped it might at least make her seem not as cruel in the eyes of her old friends.

She disgusted herself. Did she truly care only for herself?

 _No,_ she thought honestly, although she hated herself for it. _I care about him, too._

* * *

The first letter had appeared when James had left to Sirius and Remus' new flat with Harry. She heard the soft thud from behind her and whipped around, wand high in the air, heart racing.

" _H-Homenum revelio,_ " she stammered.

Nothing.

It was only then her eyes fell on the letter and the flower on the table.

She approached it tentatively, wand still drawn. She could see her name written on the envelope, in a hand she didn't recognise.

Lily's eyes darted around the room, shaking. She had not been left alone since that night, and while her husband was not the best company, he was still protection.

Curiosity won out over her fear, and ever so carefully, slowly, she inched toward the letter and prodded the flower with her wand, holding her breath as she did. Like she was waiting for it to explode.

But the flower did not explode. Merely rolled over, revealing a note with small writing on it. _Avonlea lily,_ it said, _This looks like the colour of the sky when I first fell in love with you._

Lily looked around, unsure whether or not this was someone's idea of a joke. Despite the fact that they had barely spoken in weeks, if anyone was sending her flowers, she assumed it would be her husband. But the sky had been in all different shades of grey when she and he first fell in love, and by the time the pink of the Avonlea first appeared on the horizon, she could practically hear wedding bells. She hesitated slightly, and picked up the envelope. She flipped it over and took out the letter.

 _Dear Lily,_ it said,

 _I'm unable to talk to you anymore, because of the circumstances, but I absolutely need to, so I've decided to try writing these letters._

 _I was never very articulate around you, was I? I've been sitting here for fifteen minutes and I can't write a thing. I feel the words but I can't find them._

 _Merlin. Okay. Here goes nothing._

 _I love you. And I miss you. And I'm so sorry. Every second you were ever in danger was all my fault. I could've ended it at school, you know, and you'd be safe and happy right now. You'd be celebrating the end of the war. And instead you're frightened out of your mind, forced to leave your own home. Now you're in a Pureblood-circle, and they want you to attend their luncheons and parties and expect you to invite them into your new home, which I know you don't even like, because I know you, and I'm really rambling now, aren't I? You still make me nervous. It's been years and I guess I'll always be nervous around you._

 _You're always so beautiful. Even in that awful picture they put in the Prophet. I still can't believe they published that-you had been attacked, and the Healers hadn't told you if your son was alive. They took him from you. Who took that picture? What sick bastard took that picture?_

 _No one's taking care of you. I can't believe your husband left you, after the Aurors arrived. What could've been more important than you? He never did deserve you._

 _This letter doesn't make much sense, I'm sure. I just want you to know that I'll love you forever. Always._

 _I'll write again soon._

Lily stood frozen, as if someone had hexed her to the spot. She didn't know what to think. All she knew was that for the first time in a long time, her heart moved inside her by something other than fear. And she felt something else... something that made her breath rather short and sped her pulse and brought heat to her cheeks.

 _I'll write again soon._

 _Anticipation._

* * *

She hid his letters in a few different places. Under the bed, at first, but then she realised that was too obvious. She kept them in a top cupboard in the kitchen for only a few minutes, but then she realised that James cooked far more often than she did, nowadays.

In the end, she decided on a wardrobe in one of the spare guestrooms, locked in a box she kept sealed shut with magic.

She wondered if it was her respect for her husband that led her to hide the letters or her utter mockery. She wasn't completely heartless; she was sickened at the thought of the not-affair going on under his own roof, alongside his son. So hiding it was... good, wasn't it? This was Harry couldn't see. His parents' memories, which could still be felt in some corners of the house, were not so disgraced...

She could pretend, and keep up appearances, but she could not lie to herself. She was an awful wife, an awful daughter-in-law, an awful mother, and an awful person.

And she loved it.

She lived for his letters. In the beginning, she was quite frightened. Who was this man who claimed to know her so well, who could get his _deliveries_ , as she had taken to calling them in her mind, into her house?

But his emotions grew stronger as the letters progressed, and she felt desired. She was only human. She couldn't be blamed for the attraction she felt towards someone who was so clearly attracted to her, could she?

Her husband barely looked at her anymore. This man ached for her touch. He needed her. He loved her so, in a million different ways. He clearly became more comfortable in writing; he had grown more precise and direct and eloquent.

She imagined, not for the first time, what it would be like to write back, and make plans to leave. She would _not_ leave Harry. She would absolutely take him with her. She supposed she and her husband would split custody fifty-fifty... he deserved more, perhaps, but the Wizengamot still favoured women in child-rearing, did they not? And if her mind-healer cleared her for half, then she would get half. Her new partner could help. He would. He'd said so a thousand times over. Even in this letter, the one still clutched in her hand, he said he'd take them to an American seashore... he'd play with Harry...

Her husband would be all right. Sirius and Remus were still his best friends, they would take care of him. Peter's betrayal still lingered in their silences, but she knew that Harry's laughter filled them. She suspected even her husband laughed while visiting Sirius and Remus with Harry... yes, the divorce would be good for him. She was only pulling him down, and James was only ever meant to fly.

She could hear Harry tapping his spoon against his bowl. She folded the letter and put it and the lily inside the envelope, and entered the kitchen to give him more food.

"Some juice, Harry?" she said lightly, softly. She poured watered-down pumpkin juice into his bottle and handed it to him.

Harry took it and she watched his eyes widen as he registered the sweetness, unused to being allowed at this time in the afternoon, and certainly not from his mother. In return, he treated her to one of his toothy grins, which she hadn't seen in so long.

She smiled too, surprised. This was all her letter-writer's doing. He had put her in a good mood, and she had been kind to her son. She desperately wanted this to be her reality, but she knew she wouldn't stand in court without him at her side. Until he revealed himself to her, she would be stuck in the marriage which had died so long ago.

She wasn't particularly worried, though, and despite herself, smiled a bit as she heated more food for Harry. She might not know his name, but she knew he would always wait for her.

* * *

James grinned down at Harry as they Apparated in front of their house. He was still swaying in his arms.

"Whoa, whoa, whoooa!" Harry said in his high-pitched voice, slamming himself back and forth against James' chest.

He laughed. Harry could be so dramatic sometimes. "All right, little lion, calm down."

Harry raised a curled hand and tried to make his face look dark. "Rrrr-awr," he said, attempting to mimic Sirius' growl.

The whole "little lion" had been his idea. Sirius wanted to paint his nursery in Gryffindor colours, and James had thought it a good idea too, but Lily had put her foot down, saying that she didn't want to force a specific House onto him, and anyway, she couldn't bare to think of him growing up and leaving for school, and didn't he realise they'd be all the more disappointed if he spent eleven years living in scarlet and gold, only to write home and announce himself a Slytherin?

James smiled at the memory of his wife, his Lily, making a joke. Laughing with him. She hardly looked at him anymore.

Shifting Harry in his arms to get a better grip on the handle, he opened the door and stepped into the kitchen.

Harry did not seem to notice his mother sitting, staring at a fixed spot near the sink, because he kept at his chatter, but James did. She was still quite pale, but had colour in her cheeks.

He placed Harry in his high chair and turned to look at her.

She was still so beautiful. It amazed him. No matter how little she paid attention to herself, no matter how broken she felt her soul was, she was still so beautiful. Her hair still fell in its dark red locks, and though her eyes had long since lost their shine and laughter, they remained the deepest shade of green, duplicated in their son's ever-cheery face.

"He didn't eat much," he said, when he realised she wasn't going to say anything.

Lily didn't miss a beat. "How much should I feed him."

That stung. Why didn't she ask why he hadn't fed him? Why was she okay with them switching off shifts like this?

James shrugged, still hurt. "Till he stops eating, I guess."

Lily's expression remained blank. He wasn't quite sure she heard him... he could never talk to her anymore, could he? But then she nodded.

He knew she wouldn't move until he left. She still had not returned to him since that night at Godric's Hollow. That damned mind-healer was a joke, and it didn't look like she ever would.

"I'm going to take a nap," wrestling inwardly with himself as he casually called out the lie.

He made his way to their bedroom-well, it should have been their bedroom. It was mostly his. Lily slept in different guest rooms around the house, never feeling comfortable for a moment. Should he offer to move them back to Godric's Hollow? He had been told that would be too traumatic.

He ran a hand through his hair and caught a glimpse of his furrowed brows in the mirror across from their-his-bed. How was he supposed to know what she was thinking when she didn't tell anyone?

James sat down on the edge of the bed. He swallowed and his expression hardened. His beautiful wife was not the only one keeping secrets.

Sighing, he reached down and pulled out two things from underneath the bed: an envelope and a Stargazer lily.

He imagined, not for the first time, what it would be like to go downstairs and present her with the letter and the lily himself.

She'd go mad, he knew. She'd be confused and hurt. There was simply no way she suspected it was him... letter-writing was so not his thing, and he had never even given her flowers before.

But still... how could she not know? He loved her and Harry more than anyone had ever loved anything. So much it hurt. It had been that way always, and he knew it would be that way until the very end.

* * *

 **A/N: I'd much appreciate a review! Let me know if you liked it! I kind of have an idea of how to continue this and make it a two- or three-shot, so be sure to tell me if that's something you'd be interested in. I'm also dying to know if you suspected it was James.**


End file.
